Get Your Own Box

Razor and Sarah came over last night and I cooked the shit out of some salmon, using this recipe I found on epicurious.com. I just kind of saw the recipe and liked the look of it, and I was a little worried that it wasn't going to come out well, but it totally did. So we ate some good food and drank wine and beers and Billy and Sarah played and liked The Warriors. But there must have been something off in my cooking (or maybe it was that I ate most of Sarah's plate), because I tossed and turned all night emitting gasses and having strange, brief dreams, including this one:

I'm scheduled as the opening act for an afternoon show by The Gaping Abyss at some dive in the heart of some desolate expanse of Queens, but I have no instruments and can't remember any songs to play. Chris keeps giving me pep talks, assuring me that I'll get up on stage (with a beat-up awful acoustic guitar he lends me) and the songs will just come to me, but I'm freaking out -- to the extent that my ass sweats through my pants and leaves a big gross sweat-stain on this tablecloth I'm sitting on. Sick.

When Sophie got up this morning at like... 5:00 AM to catch her business flight to NC, I woke up and felt completely awake and anxious, entertaining all sorts of grim fantasies in classic Julian style: "Why am I so awake so early? I haven't gotten any sleep at all tonight, practically!!! Am I finally going crazy? Is this what crazy feels like?" But, of course, as is literally always the case, I fell back asleep in 5 minutes, only to wake up at 8:00 AM feeling groggy and awful, totally wanting to get back into bed.

I'm getting pretty far in both The Warriors and Call of Cthulhu, such that both games have gotten too hard for me to play without cheating. It's inevitable.

My Halloween costume was kind of a bust. Like I said, JAYNE COBB HAT never showed up, so I sort of improvised with this white t-shirt that said "I BRAKE 4 REAVER GIRLS." Which doesn't even make sense because Jayne hates Reavers and isn't even in a position on the ship where he'd be "braking," period. I know that, people. But what really drove the point home that the costume wasn't gonna be a success was this pair of fancy-pants Park Slope teenagers hanging out outside the 11th St. Deli: "I brake for raver girls? What the fuck?" I was ashamed, and safety pinned my jacket up for the duration of the trip to Katharine's.

Which turned out to be a wise decision, since the train was hopping with mean teens looking to poke fun at: The goth-looking lady in the avant-garde "F Train" costume; a particularly unfortunate looking brother in full white-face and covered in band-aids who was going as "Marv" from Sin City (fake chin putty and all); and many more. I'm thinking about going to the Greenwich Village Halloween Parade tonight, so, you know... there'll be more of that.